


They Get Us in the Night

by orphan_account



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Hanzo is so patient, Insomnia, Jesse is so happy to have someone as patient as Hanzo, M/M, McHanzo - Freeform, Night Terrors, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Trust, brief mentions of violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-02
Updated: 2017-01-02
Packaged: 2018-09-14 07:26:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9168268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Jesse McCree is a man haunted by many demons, demons he couldn't shake and kept him awake at night. He trusted Hanzo, but he didn't trust his demons wouldn't be the one thing that drove him away. Try as he might, he couldn't hide his demons forever.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So this is a potential first installment of a little series of vent fics with my favorite heroes of Overwatch coping with nightmares and night terrors. I've been dealing with a lot of nightmares and troubles sleeping, and well...I don't have anyone to comfort me, but my favorite ships do!
> 
> I'm up for suggestions and for who you'd like to see comforted. I PLAN to already do a couple but...who knows. Maybe I'll lose inspiration, but you all could certainly help me!
> 
> So I uh, hope you enjoy!

Jesse McCree was a man haunted by much guilt and regret, and it followed him from well into his youth. It started with the pain and grief he felt when he helplessly watched his parents perish in a drive-by shooting. Then came his run with Deadlock, then the shady dealings in Blackwatch. He should have spoken up, should have insisted something be done to investigate the Shirts pulling the strings from their safe little lofts. It tore at his heart to watch Commander Reyes sink deeper into his depression and there wasn’t a damn thing he did about it (not that there was likely anything he _could_ do). It just dug the wound in his chest ever wider, and added to the hoard of demons that haunted him at night. They hid around every corner, waiting for the gunslinger to let his guard down and pounce. It’s why sleep was so fretful for Jesse, and he would go many nights without it. But he couldn’t avoid sleep forever, as much as he wished he could.

Things were a little different now. Jesse was no longer alone. He had the protection of his stoic dragon to guard the man from himself (most days anyways). Regrets and guilt, shouldering heavy burdens, it was one of the first things that bonded the archer and the gunslinger together. He had another of his many nightmares and had gone to the mess hall to grab some comfort food when he found one Hanzo Shimada occupying one of the tables with a cup of tea (yuck) and a book. The dark circles under his eyes were a tell that he was exhausted from a long day of training, yet here he was, up in the dead of night. It didn’t take a genius to guess at what was keeping him up; his own share of terrors.

They were an unlikely pair, that was for certain. Hanzo, though he had this rather zen carefree attitude about him (that according to Genji was a new thing), was also very stoic and reserved. It came from a lifetime of holding himself to his family’s standards, trying to be the perfect heir to the family legacy. Jesse, on the other hand, was very bombastic and aloof at times, easy to smile, easy to laugh and share the little joy he had left within him after weathering a difficult life. Things were tense in their early partnership, their combat styles clashing immensely. That was until they got into their groove and realized opposites really _do_ work well together. Jesse made himself a target, but was quick on his feet and quicker on the draw. With all eyes on him, Hanzo hailed death from the shadows. They were a lethal duo, and gained a respect for one another from their time on the field.

That respect developed into a friendship, which evolved into an intimacy neither were quite expecting to blossom. It was an awkward first few months of flirting and rather amusing courtship, but love was fostered, and the two were more inseparable than ever. That is, until the night fell. Jesse didn’t want Hanzo to see how deep seeded his troubles were. He didn’t want him to see just how sick he was. His lover was so strong in the face of his suffering, and the gunslinger had gotten it into his head that Hanzo would lose love and respect for Jesse if he saw. He couldn’t see. He just couldn't lose the one good thing he had left to cherish in his life. It wasn’t an issue at first, but soon this boundary was putting up a wall in their relationship.

They’ve had this standoff a number of times now, but Jesse was feeling quite defeated today as opposed to most. Hanzo’s eyes were fierce and showed hurt, and he could feel his shoulders slump against the weight of the stare. He was exhausted after a recon mission that went south pretty damn fast, and though he avoided sleep like the plague, he knew tonight was just not one of those nights. His lack of sleep was affecting his performance, and when that happens, he knew he had to risk facing his demons or risk Hanzo's safety if he nodded off on the job.

“Look, sweetheart, I—“

“You’re shutting me out, Jesse, and after everything I have opened up to you about, I feel rather…cheated. Do you trust me, or not? Because we cannot remain bonded together as one without trust. This is not a one way street.”

Just had to hit him where it hurt most, didn’t he? Hanzo could either build you up or tear you apart with his words. He was a right damn artist with them. Jesse ran a shaky hand through his sweat slicked hair, thinking on it for only a moment before his body sagged further in resignation. He was fucking right, and the gunslinger found himself pinned. He was a fool if he thought he was going to get out of hiding his demons away forever.

“Yer right. Ya got me. I just…fuck, Hanzo, ‘m not…”

Jesse put his hands up in resignation, then moved to unlock the door to his sparse barracks room, gesturing for Hanzo to follow him inside. To be honest, he was petrified. He needed sleep, but christ didn't want the archer to see what became of him when his demons got his claws under his skin. It was an absolutely pathetic show really, and it left him feeling so small and insignificant. He didn't want Hanzo to realize what a sad little roach of a man he really was. The thought of losing him just made him absolutely sick.

The two were quick to get to bed after their long, hard day, and despite the fear of what the night held, Jesse was all too happy to hold the smaller man curled up into him. The warmth was quite soothing, and he could hear the sound of Hanzo’s heartbeat through his back. The archer seemed just as pleased, making a content little hum in his half-awake daze. He was already dozing off, while Jesse was fighting his heavy eyelids, gritting his teeth against the darkness sweeping over him. But before too long, he fell into a fitful sleep, where the demons were ready for him…

 -----------------

_“They comin’ ‘round the back!”_

_Jesse was hunched behind a wooden barrel, gunfire blasting all around him. It was damn near deafening. He could see fellow gang members running through the fray, howling and popping off shots. It was a drug run gone bad. Some local vigilantes took it upon themselves to defend the nearby city who were sick and tired of the feds being incapable on getting the upper hand on Deadlock's criminal activities. Damn fools who were just going to ratchet up the body count. A young teen McCree took a few shaking, steadying breaths, fighting off the bile and panic he always felt when they jumped into a gun fight. This is not how his life was supposed to be. He didn’t want to be another nameless dead punk wasted out in the desert. But these were the cards he was dealt. Sitting behind a damn barrel, killing innocent people who just wanted a better life for their family._

_These damn dreams were always a smack in the face, ever reminding him that no matter how ‘redeemed’ he was, he was still a punk ass kid with a murder list a mile long. A bullet whizzed passed his ear, far too close for comfort. May be just a dream, but Jesse was always told the tale that dying in your dreams meant death outside of it, and he was not about to be done in with his eyes closed. He took one more steadying breath, then rolled out, popping off two shots that wasted away two of the fighters. He was ready for more when his ‘Handler’, as the prick that dealt with initiates liked to call himself, whistled loudly through his fingers. Everyone’s heads snapped up. The gunfire had ceased. An ominous silence filled the air._

_"Alright ya little shits, time fer a little lesson in respect! Get yer asses over here now!”_

_Jesse and the other initiates ran quickly to the scarred, burly man pacing around the last surviving vigilante, who appeared gravely wounded and very small from his curled position. Great, one of those lessons. Honestly, he would take a beating any day over having to ‘learn a lesson’ through the suffering, pain, and death of some poor innocent sap. Bet the sorry bastard just wanted to make sure his family was safe from Deadlock, safe from them, safe from him. Because Jesse was a monster, just like the rest of them. He stood in line with the other greenhorns, who all looked like vicious, starving mongrels, twisted, inhuman grins cracked across their faces. The teen shuddered, looking with dull eyes to the Handler’s latest victim._

_“Righto you fuckin’ worthless punkasses! Ya think yer soooo big and bad! Think yer hard er some shit. Well, you sure as fuck are NOT! Because best fucking bet if you even think you’re gonna go against us, we will find you, and we will execute you.”_

_The man kneeling before the Handler flinched ever so slightly, but Jesse couldn’t catch a look of his face. Long, inky black locks obscured it, and he seemed keen and maintaining what little of his dignity he had left. He didn’t want the heckling initiates to see his fear and pain. But the Handler caught on to that, yanked the man’s head up by the hair, and the face the teen was confronted with made his heart stop. It wasn’t possible. It simply wasn’t possible. Jesse’s blood ran cold as he stared into the face of his dearest Hanzo, his eyes frantic, yet light fading from the severity of his injuries._

_“H…Han?”_

_Despite Hanzo's dire situation, he offered the smallest of comforting smiles to Jesse. It made him feel pathetic, that even though the archer was the one staring death in the face, he was the one being comforted. That smile was saying 'I don't blame you, it isn't your fault'. The truth was, he was completely at fault just by being affiliated with these monsters._

_“It was always going to end this way, Jesse. It is the life of the outlaw. If it is any comfort, I am…sorry.”_

_Jesse took a staggering step back, and his discomfort didn’t go unnoticed. The other initiates leered at him, the Handler’s face becoming rather fierce and demonic, contorting into something monstrous. The laugh that ripped through the man made the teen shake in his boots (literally), and he honestly considered running from his Handler for the first time. He would never have dared to when he ran with the gang, and he never tried before in the throws of a nightmare. But this time was different. This time was wrong, so very wrong._

_“Gettin’ cold feet, boy? How ‘bout you do the honors? Sure love yer little gun enough. Teach this little rabble rouser a lesson. Ya don’t cross Deadlock.”_

_“Yeah, come on little pup!”_

_“Blow him away!”_

_“Do it ya little pussy boy!”_

_Jesse held his revolver up, eyes wide with shock and horror. He felt numb, cold to the very core. He couldn’t. He couldn’t do this. Not Hanzo. Not him. Anyone but him. He was going to be sick._

_“Jesse…”_

_Jesse shook his head, biting onto the inside of his cheek to keep himself as composed as one could be given what he was tasked to do. The heckles of the initiates filled his head, goading him on to 'get it over with'. His skin felt too tight, too hot, not his._

_“It is alright my little coyote…I forgive you. Please…do what you must.”_

_Jesse stepped forward automatically, a stiff jerk lurching him forward. He was hardly even aware of his movements, felt entirely out of control of his own body. Before he knew it, he was standing before Hanzo, Peacekeeper’s cold barrel pressed against his forehead. He couldn’t help the sobs that escaped him, body shaking violently with his emotional outburst. The teen shook his head once more, rather violently this time,  choking on words that just wouldn’t come out. What could you say to someone who was supposed to be able to trust you, yet were about to betray so cruelly?_

_“H-Han…I’m…s-sorry…”_

_Then, with a bellowing scream, Jesse pulled the trigger, the gore and blood the last thing to color his vision before he was pitched into a sea of darkness._

_\---------------_

 Jesse lurched up in the bed, a loud scream tearing from him into the darkness of the room. But his room was hazy, and in the throw of a night terror, it looked so similar to the filthy little room he shared with the other Deadlock initiates. He scrambled in fright out off the bed and onto the floor, heaving shallow breaths, body tense and ready for flight. He could vaguely hear a voice calling to him, but it seemed so distant, unreachable. It was a familiar voice, comforting yet urgent. That couldn't be. There was never a single source of sanctuary in this hellhole.

“Je…sse…Jesse? MCCREE!”

 Jesse whipped his head around in a panic, expecting to find his Handler looming over him, ready for the painful beating he was sure to receive for some transgression or another. Instead he came face to face with Hanzo, face disfigured by what should be a lethal revolver shot to the face. In fact with all of the blood and gore his face was close to unrecognizable to that of the man he cherished so dearly. But it was nothing more than a dream! It had to have been just a dream. The gunslinger raised his shaking hands before his eyes, and they were soaked in blood.

“H…Hanzo…no…n-no, no, NO!”

Jesse shrieked, recoiling away from Hanzo into a corner of the room before retching what little contents he had in his stomach. Oh fucking christ what had he done? Oh what had he done? Jesse curled in on himself, sobbing uncontrollably as the taunting hollers of the initiates echoed around in his head. Monsters like him couldn't be redeemed. He was a criminal, a cold blooded killer, and no amount of good he tried to bring to the world would make him deserving of a second chance.

“Jesse, Jesse…my coyote, look at me. Listen to me. Come back to me.”

Jesse shook his head furiously, kicking his legs out blindly in some feeble attempt to keep the specter of his murdered lover at bay. He didn’t want to face what he’d done. Not to Hanzo. He couldn’t divide what was the dream and what was reality. For all he knew, his dream could be reality. It was all so mixed up in his head. So mixed up and confused. His mind was focused on the image of that mangled face and the revolver in his hands. But suddenly there was a grounding source he could latch onto, one that was largely out of place in the old Deadlock hideaway. Hanzo started to sing a lullaby in his native tongue, or at least what the man could guess was a lullaby due to it’s hushed and tender tone. The voice seeped into his frantic mind, blurring the edges of his distorted reality. It was dizzying, and Jesse pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. Such a mess.

For what seemed like many long minutes, Jesse let the song wash over him, grounding him, calming him so that he may hopefully find his bearings again. It was only until the tension had left his body enough that he felt hands gently tugging at his wrists. He hadn't realized he had fisted his own into his hair, pulling roughly at the sweaty, knotted locks. The gunslinger jerked his head up, wild eyes peering around the room. He was back at the watchpoint, back in his barracks room, and with him was Hanzo, no longer wounded, safe and sound. His expression was calm, but he couldn't hide the immense worry that touched his eyes. He smiled softly upon seeing Jesse finally focus on him, some semblance of cognition coming through the mania.

“Jesse, I am right here. Focus yourself on me. Hush now…whatever you saw, it is not real. This, right here, is real.”

 Jesse couldn't help the broken sob, hands grasping desperately at the archer's pants, the only bit of clothing there was to hang on to. He was grabbing on like a man on the edge, as if letting go would throw him back into the nightmare, back into the clutches of Deadlock and his other demons. Hanzo was his only anchor to reality.

“Oh H-Han…”

Hanzo could read him like a damn book. Even without being told, he just knew what had driven the gunslinger to his sudden bout of madness. The man sat before him cross legged, rubbing Jesse’s legs gently, trying to coax him into a more open sitting position. Jesse couldn’t help but comply, sitting with his arms propped against his knees. He was still finding it hard to catch his breath and keep his body from shaking, but he could feel himself starting to calm ever so slowly. The archer’s zen demeanor had that affect on him, something he was grateful for on his worst days. 

 “What did you see, coyote? You will find no judgement here. Let me in.”

 So Jesse spilled his guts, recalling his dream in vivid detail, his head giving twitching jerks as the anxiety started escalating again (it was a nervous tick he developed in his teen years and could never seem to grow out of). Hanzo listened intently, not interrupting once, comforting the gunslinger with gentle touches and soft, inviting eyes that held no judgement. It was so hard, watching that dream play over and over again in his head. He could feel the bile rising in his throat once more at the image of Hanzo's bloody face, and he clamped his jaw shut against it, pressing his hand against his mouth in an attempt to stave it off. He felt absolutely sick and disgusted with himself. He wanted to shrink to the size of a pinprick and vanish. He must truly be a foul thing if he would allow himself to bring harm to his beloved, even if only in a nightmare.

 “Oh Jesse... I already know what you must be thinking, and—“

“Th-That I’m an irredeemable monster? Not much else t-ta say ‘bout it, partner… Past is always gonna come back ta haunt me. ‘m damaged goods, Han. Guess I…wanted ta pretend I wasn’t, even fer just a little while. Jig is up though, I reckon. Can't hide how broken you are ferever...”

Jesse made to get up, to scramble away from his whole disaster. He needed some fresh air. He was absolutely suffocating. But Hanzo was having none of that. The archer grabbed him by the shoulders before he could duck out of his reach, giving a firm shake that at least got him out of his self-deprecating thoughts long enough to look into his lover’s eyes. Ever patient, ever tender, ever understanding. It made him squirm. He was so undeserving.

“I have no fear of you. I have no doubt you shall never do intentional harm to me. You are no monster, you—“

Jesse tried to argue back, but the archer would hear not a word of it. Hanzo placed two fingers against his lips before pressing their foreheads together, as a gesture of his trust towards the other. He could remember a time when Han didn’t really want to be anywhere near him, let alone make physical contact. He was leaving himself open and vulnerable to Jesse, yet wasn't batting an eyelash or giving it a second thought.

“You were a young pup. You had nowhere to go, and did not believe you had any other options. You were lost, but have long since found yourself. I believed myself irredeemable, and yet you and my brother showed me that anyone can make amends if they are honest in their intentions and truly wish to change. You, Jesse, have fought every odd stacked against you, and have become a man that I admire and look up to. Your demons do not change that.”

Jesse couldn’t help the shuddering gasp of relief, and christ the damn waterworks just had to start right back up. He was a damn mess, but Hanzo was still here. He didn’t run. He didn’t look upon him with disgust. He was still here. Still here, safe, and very much alive. He wasn't here out of pity. He was here because he wanted to be. It brought a warmth to cold body. It was soothing.

“Jesse, you do not need to shoulder this pain and fear alone. I love you dearly. I guessed long ago you wished not to room with me because of the demons that haunt you in the night. I have my fair share. I know the suffering that comes from shouldering them alone. We need each other. There is no need to suffer alone. We are in this together, are we not?”

Jesse reached his hands out to hold Hanzo’s face gently, a smile finally pulling to his lips through his tears. How did he get so lucky? So lucky to get a man like this in his life? He wasn’t sure he _did_ deserve Hanzo, but if he was willing to stay, who was he to refuse his kindness? He couldn’t refuse a face like that. He finally started to feel the knot in his stomach unwind, the tears starting to ebb away. He felt a blessed peace he hasn’t felt in the night time hours since the death of his parents, and it left him feeling thoroughly exhausted. For once, he was welcoming the sleep that left his eyelids heavy. In fact, the thought of dozing off with Hanzo in his arms was a very appealing idea.

“Come. You have deserved a long night’s sleep.”

Jesse gave a tired nod, allowing the archer to lead him back to the bed. His body sank into the mattress, and he found himself pulling the pillow in close against him. So soft, so warm. He could hear a faint chuckle behind him before a pair of strong arms pulled him close, and the archer’s warm body made him feel safe. When was the last time he felt so safe? Hell, when was the last time he's had a restful night's sleep?

“The demons will haunt you no more this night. Just sleep dear coyote.”

Jesse could feel the press of a kiss to his head before sleep took him away into a wonderful bliss. The demons still possessed him in his coming days, and there were some nights when sleep was robbed from the poor gunslinger entirely. But Hanzo was always there to help him fight them back. With his dragon by his side, he no longer feared the things that went bump in the night, and he learned the demons only had as much power over him as he allowed them to have.


End file.
